Like Magic
by LazyCreeper
Summary: As a favor to McGonagall, Harry reluctantly agrees to observe a class at Hogwarts to see if he's up for the challenge of being the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But who McGonagall pairs him with is none too pleasant. Drarry, slow-burner, EWE!
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: **This is a Draco/Harry story, first off, so if that's not your thing, you probably won't like it. But other than that, I don't think there'll be much call for warnings in this particular fic. That's subject to change, of course, but for now, it's fine. :P

**Author's Note: **I just hit a resounding blank when I tried to write something for my other two stories. And it was driving me crazy not writing _something_, so this little ditty was born. I think I may work on this when I can't think of anything for my other fics. Depends on if people like it or not, I guess.

* * *

An ear-splitting shriek from the back of the room jarred Draco from his daydreams. He jerked his head up, looking left and right for the owner of the scream. A young girl sprinted up to his desk, her hands lifted to her face in a feeble attempt to cover up the result of a very well-executed Furnunculus hex.

"Professor, somebody just—!"

"Hospital wing, Miss Cresswell," Draco said breathlessly, waving his hand lazily to dismiss her. "Ten points from Ravenclaw," he said a little louder, much to the disgruntlement of the left side of the room—which was, of course, full of Ravenclaws.

"But how do you know it was a Ravenclaw that did it?" a young boy with dirty-blonde hair and freckles dotting the end of his nose said. The rest of the Ravenclaws murmured their agreement.

Draco stood up from his desk and strolled over to the young boy, and as he did so, the room went quiet. He stopped directly in front of the boy's seat at one of the long tables.

"Mr. Newmaker, are you familiar with the Prior Incantato charm?"

The boy looked afraid to answer, but Draco's icy stare eventually wore him down. "N-no, Professor—"

"Let's see your wand then. I'll give the class a little demonstration." The boy shakily handed over his wand, and Draco waved it through the air, murmuring the charm. Tiny boil-like bubbles, much akin to the boils now covering Miss Cresswell's face, spat from the wand tip, bursting accusingly in the young boy's face.

"Even though I never was one for charms, that's one you should probably learn. You see, it reveals the last spell that the particular wand cast. And in this case, we'd have a Furnunculus hex. Do you have any idea how that may have happened, Mr. Newmaker?"

The boy's face went red at being called out in front of the whole class. The Hufflepuffs on the other side of the room were tittering at him. He didn't say anything. Draco handed him back his wand.

"Ten more points from Ravenclaw for your cheek, Mr. Newmaker," Draco said, smirking. "I'd give you a detention, but that was some fairly impressive wandwork for a first year."

"…Th-thank you sir," Newmaker said uncertainly, tucking his wand back into his robe pocket.

Draco walked about the room, looking down into the depths of everyone's cauldrons. He'd given them all a first-year level potion to brew, a simple bruise-healing paste, which consisted of no deadly ingredients to speak of in case some of the more curious students decided to nibble on their supplies. It was a quick potion to make, but he picked one with a short cooking time so the students who did it wrong the first go-round would have a chance to do it over again. That was something he never got in his Potions class when he was a boy—a chance to do it over if he made a stupid mistake. When he got his own classroom, that was the first change he made.

Nearly all of the Ravenclaws were doing quite nicely, as was to be expected, and most of the Hufflepuffs were struggling, as was also to be expected. There were no smoky-red sparks coming from anyone's cauldrons yet, which meant they had all at least followed _one _rule of making this potion—never stop stirring.

After making a few trips around the room, giving pointers and constructive criticism to his students, Draco glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. "Almost time to go! Empty a sample of your work into a phial, please, and _don't forget to write your name on it_. No name, no grade," he said. "Also," he said loudly over the sound of chairs scuffling and bottles clinking, "don't forget to Scourgify your desks and all utensils—if you need help with that charm just ask—if you borrowed one of my textbooks, put it back in the cabinet—put all your leftover materials back into their jars, please—see you next Tuesday!"

As the bottles started mounting on his desk and the students filed out the door, he heaved a sigh of relief. Double potions with first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs was his toughest class to referee. Not even the Gryffindors and Slytherins fought it out that much, which came as a resounding surprise to the blonde. But as far as everything went, he thought he was doing fairly well, seeing as it was only his third week on the job. He'd been hesitant to take the job offering—he wasn't sure if he could handle the younger kids with his short temper—but he'd really taken to it. You always hear about how teaching is rewarding, and Draco finally understood what people meant when they said that. There was nothing compared to the look on a student's face when you've made them finally understand something.

But be that as it may, it was still exhausting. He magicked the bottles into a drawer in his desk, and waved his wand at some papers he needed to grade to fly into his briefcase. He was glad it was his break hour, because he'd be napping until it was time for Intermediate Potions with the fifth-year Gryffindors.

xxx

"I'm not sure, Professor," Harry said, taking the proffered biscuit and balancing it on his knee, having no intention to eat it any time soon.

"Please, Harry, call me Minerva," Professor McGonagall said, lacing her fingers together as she stared at Harry from across her desk. "You're not exactly a student anymore." The decorations in her office were just as Dumbledore had left them, save for a few womanly trinkets on the desk now. Harry was glad to see that.

"I think you'll always be Professor McGonagall to me," Harry said, laughing. "It'd probably sound a bit weird if I called you…_Minerva_."

"Oh, you may be right," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. "Anyhow, Harry, back to business—"

"How much time do I have to…you know…think it over?"

"Not long, I'm afraid," Professor McGonagall said. "We can't have a substitute in Defense Against the Dark Arts forever, you know. Especially not in the first few weeks of school, when the basics need to be adhered to."

"I know, it's just…" Harry said, scratching at his head. "I don't think I'm…_qualified _for this job, is all."

"Harry Potter, _not qualified _to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? Don't be ridiculous, Harry. I don't think we'll have any complaints from parents when they figure out who's running the classroom, do you?"

"But that's the thing, I mean, I _know _the material, but I don't know the first thing about running a classroom," Harry said.

Professor McGonagall tap-tap-tapped her nails against the desk, thinking. "How about you sit in on a few classes to jog your memory?" she finally said. "You can observe one of the teachers here for a week or two and see if teaching would be something you're interested in."

Harry screwed up his face. He wasn't so sure about that. He wasn't sure about _any _of this, really, but how could he say no to a favor from McGonagall? But all she had said in her letter was that he had to _discuss_ the matter with her—not that he had to actually do it. So it was _sort _of okay to back out now. But…

Harry sighed. "I suppose…"

"Excellent!" Professor McGonagall said. "I'll talk with the other teachers and see if it's alright if you can observe one of their classes. You're free to go, Harry, I'll write you as soon as I find someone."

xxx

As soon as the proposal had left McGonagall's mouth at the head of the staff table, many willing hands rose into the air, but Draco's was quickest.

"I'll let him observe _my _class," Draco said with a smirk.

"I'd love to have Harry look in on me class!" Hagrid said, and Draco scowled at him.

"I wouldn't have any problem with Harry coming to _my _class, either," Professor Sprout piped up.

"He's more than welcome in my classroom," Professor Flitwick said.

"No problem at all—"

"Don't mind a bit—"

"So exciting, can't wait to see him—"

The whole staff table was abuzz with talk. Absolutely no one was objecting to having Harry in their class, which wasn't surprising at all. But Draco had said it _first_, dammit, so Harry should come to _his _classroom. The others would lavish Golden Boy with praise, conveniently forgetting his faults. But oh, no, Draco would be giving old Scarhead a run for his money if he really wanted to teach at Hogwarts. Unlike other people, he had no problem in telling Harry that he was wrong.

"I know that all of you are eager to help Harry," Professor McGonagall shouted over the top of all of them, "but since his field is in Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm assigning him to the teacher with the subject most closely related to his—which I feel to be Potions."

There was a smattering of disagreement about that, but Professor McGonagall waved her hands in front of her to silence them all.

"I figured there would be a bit of fuss about that," she said tersely. "Defense Against the Dark Arts exposes students to dangerous things, and it requires a lot of patience to be given to students who are having trouble—as does Potions. Also, Potions and Defense work hand-in-hand a lot of the time, so I think if Harry is to learn how to teach a class, he should watch Draco conduct Potions. Not to mention that Draco is a new teacher, as well, and has just recently gone through a lot of the hardships Harry will face. Does everyone understand?"

Soft murmurings followed that remark, which Professor McGonagall took that to mean _yes_. Draco looked smug and triumphant. The other teachers leered at him, and he ate it up. Having Potter under his thumb for awhile would be like a snooty blonde cat with a ball of yarn.

"This meeting is adjourned," Professor McGonagall said. "Now I've got to write Harry and tell him his schedule…" she mumbled to herself as she bustled out into the corridor.

* * *

**End Notes: **I know the whole Draco-and-Harry-are-both-teachers-at-Hogwarts thing has been done about eleventy times, but that idea has always appealed to me and I'm going to try and make mine a little different, I hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: **Drarry, first of all! And secondly, slow-burner. If you want senseless shagging, read elsewhere if you please. Also, EWE! Like most everyone else, I am..._displeased _with the epilogue. So there'll be none of that!

**Author's Note: **Alright, so. I've gotten attached to this story. It shall be updated slightly more than I originally intended. Haha. :P

Also, if you care, I'm taking a tiny break from my other Drarry story, 'Institution,' because I've gotten myself into a few too many plot twists and I need to figure out how to condense it a little. But I'm writing my _other _other Drarry story, 'Ache,' as we speak. So that's that...

* * *

Harry had read McGonagall's letter about four times now, but he still didn't think he quite understood it. He read it again.

"'Dear Harry…pleased to inform you…arrive in my office tomorrow, April 12th…pack enough clothing and toiletries for a one month-long stay…blah blah blah, _you will be observing Mr. Malfoy's Potions class_.' What? Surely…"

It couldn't be _Draco _Malfoy, could it? No, definitely not, there's no way he could deal with all those kids. But then again…how many other Mr. Malfoys were there? None, that's how many.

He had surely thought that McGonagall would pair him up with Hagrid. Or _any_one else besides Malfoy, for that matter. She was fully aware of their, er…_turbulent _history together. Why would she do that? There must be some moral or lesson or some other tosh she was trying to convey, here. It had to be. But what could she be playing at?

Harry tossed the letter back onto his kitchen cabinet and rubbed his temples. It was going to be a long, long, _long_ month.

xxx

Draco strode to his closet, magically enlarged to house his laughably huge clothing collection, wearing nothing but a fluffy bath towel round his waist. Today he was going to dress to kill. It had been, what, _five _years since he'd seen Potter? Enough for him to forget Draco's devilishly handsome visage, most likely. Draco fully intended to remind old Wonder Boy just how much better-looking he was with a passion.

He tried clothes on and modeled them in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, tossing them all over the place if they didn't suit him like a fussy teenaged girl. Was this an occasion that called for a tie? No, Potter would know he was trying too hard. A scarf?—yes, definitely. He settled on a crisp black turtleneck and thin gray _écharpe, _which is what they called scarves in _gay Paris _where he bought the thing, and some dyed grey jeans, an old Muggle fad that was starting to get pretty popular in the Wizarding world. He pirouetted in front of the mirror a few times, checking every conceivable angle for flaws. Nope. Perfect.

He used a drying charm on his hair and it fell neatly into place, as it always did. He combed it anyway, as a precaution. And for the final touch, he spritzed the subtlest of subtle colognes onto his chest, guaranteed to entice potential lovers and impress even the dustiest of dinner guests. A smirk twisted his lips as he gave himself another once-over in front of his vanity.

"Eat your bloody heart out, Potter," Draco murmured to himself. At that, there was a knock on his bedchamber door that was a respectable volume, but definitely meant business. Draco smoothed his shirt down, even though there were no wrinkles to speak of, and opened the door.

It was McGonagall. "Come along, Draco, Harry should be here any minute, he just owled. He's travelling by Floo so we don't have a riot on our hands. To my office, dear."

Draco nodded and followed her up the staircase. His palms grew sweaty. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? It was just _Potter, _after all. Nothing to get in a tuff over. Draco didn't owe him anything. Well, perhaps a life debt or two, but who was counting?

His heart beat faster as he followed McGonagall up the staircase and into her office, falling shakily into an armchair in front of her desk. The waiting was simply maddening. He didn't expect it to be. He also couldn't figure out why he cared so much. Wait—he _didn't _care, he surely did not. Not a bit.

He cleared his throat audibly and McGonagall offered him a glass of water. He declined.

"Now, before Harry comes, we need to get a few things straight, Draco," McGonagall said. "Harry is _observing_, not _interning_. He is not to be your lackey. Are we clear on that?"

"Of course, Professor," Draco said—he hadn't been able to break the habit of calling all his old teachers 'professor,' either. A barely-there smile played at his lips. He had _plenty _in store for Potter already, she needn't worry about _that_.

"And _do _try to keep your incessant bickering to a dull roar, would you? I don't expect the two of you to get along right from the start, even though that's what two grown _adults_ would do, but I will not tolerate fighting amongst teachers. Understood, Draco?"

"Yes, yes, Professor, I'll try my best not to pull his head off," Draco said, his snark slipping through. He bit his tongue.

"Watch that cheek, Draco," she said with a warning stare.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Just try to be on your best—" McGonagall started, but the sound of someone thunking through the fireplace distracted her.

She stood up. "Good to see you, Harry," she said, walking over to help him pull his trunk out of the fireplace.

"I've got it, Professor," Harry said, gently motioning for her to stop. He rocked back on his heels, tugging harder at one of the straps, gritting his teeth.

Draco stood, as well, and motioned his wand in an absentminded little curlicue. Harry's trunk immediately dislodged itself, and both it and Harry toppled backward onto the stone.

Had he and Harry been alone he would've laughed, but he held his tongue in front of McGonagall. He offered a hand to help Harry up, and Harry grudgingly took it.

Whilst Harry was dusting himself off, Draco got a good look at him. He hadn't gotten any taller, that was for sure. But he had done away with those atrocious wire-rimmed glasses and replaced them with some sensible square frames. That, at least, was an improvement. And even though Draco knew full-well Harry could afford the more fine things in life now that his celebrity had exploded, what with book royalties pouring in and all that, he still wore his tatty old sweaters and his beat-up trainers. Well, a dragon can't change his scales, Draco reasoned.

And he desperately hoped his cheeks weren't betraying him by blushing.

"_Mal_foy," Harry said in greeting, inclining his head, but his stuffy tone of voice did not go unnoticed.

"_Pot_ter," Draco said, nose in the air.

"Why don't you show Harry to his room, Draco?" McGonagall intervened. She gave Draco _the look_. "Help him get settled in, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Professor," Draco said. He left the way, leaving Harry to struggle with his trunk behind him.

When they were out of earshot from McGonagall, Draco turned back round. "Potter, what _are_ you doing?" he said, watching Harry trying to drag his trunk across the floor.

"What's it _look _like I'm doing, Malfoy?" Harry said, grimacing at the strain he had to put forth to drag his trunk around.

"Being stupid," Draco said. "_Locomotor trunk,_" Draco said airily, levitating Harry's trunk and sending it soaring through the air. He guided it along, setting it down neatly at the foot of the stairs.

"Now how hard was that?" Draco said, making his way down the stairs, Harry presumably following behind him.

Once out in the main hallway, Draco continued to drag Harry's trunk along like a toy on a string. Harry caught up to him, walking beside him.

"You know," Harry said, "I can't decide if you're actually trying to be civil, or if you're just trying to show you're better than me."

Draco shrugged. "A bit of both," he said smugly.

Out of deeply-ingrained habit, Harry started toward the stairs that led to the Gryffindor common room, but Draco clicked his tongue at him.

"Surely you don't think I sleep up _there_," Draco said. "To the dungeons, Potter."

"So _I _have to stay in the dungeons, too?" Harry said in a protesting voice.

"You're observing my class, aren't you?" Draco said. "And it just so happens that Potions is in the dungeons. So _yes_, Potter, you'll be staying in a room next to mine."

"A whole month, living in a dungeon," Harry said, sighing.

"Oh, come off it, Potter, it's not any different except it's a bit colder and there aren't any windows. Besides, the teacher's bathroom down here is by far the nicest. It has a fountain," he said, as if a fountain in the bathroom would somehow make staying locked in a dark hallway for a month sound more appealing to Harry.

"Great," Harry said. "Can't wait." He rolled his eyes.

"Here we are," Draco said, giving a few complicated taps to the door handle with his wand, and it swung open.

"Wait, you know how to undo the wards to my room?" Harry said.

Draco didn't dignify that with an answer as he dragged Harry's trunk into the room, nearly bowling Harry over in the process. He sat the trunk down at the foot of Harry's bed and waved his wand to light all the candles scattered about the room.

And Harry had to admit, it really was quite a handsome room. Large fireplace, dark yet elegant Victorian décor, giant, comfy-looking bed, fully-stocked bookshelf, a handsome desk made of…ooh, was that purplewood? The only thing he didn't like was that it was done up in Slytherin colors, but that could easily be remedied with a few color-change charms.

While Harry was poking around, looking at all the different bric-a-brac in the room, Draco started talking. "The teacher's bathroom is to your right, second door on the left—the password's 'squeaky clean.' And my first class is at nine tomorrow morning, so be ready by eight-thirty."

"Eight-thirty, right," Harry mumbled, much more interested in the perpetual candle on the nightstand. There was a candle below, and a candle above turned upside-down over the other candle, and the wax from the top candle would drip to the bottom candle, and the wax from the bottom candle would drip upward into the top candle…fascinating, really…

Draco was actually a bit disappointed that Harry didn't so much as _look _at Draco's carefully put-together outfit. It was childish, he knew, but still. And no matter what he liked to pretend it was…he'd still dressed up special for Harry, and Harry didn't notice. It was stupid, and _very _against the Potter-Hater's Code to care about such a thing, but _still_.

"What're you still here for, Malfoy? You're staring's making me nervous," Harry said, straightening his back up, popping his trunk open as he started to unpack his things.

Draco gave an _ugh_ sort of sound, turned on his heels, and with a flash of blonde hair and a whip of an _écharpe _that had been completely underappreciated, Draco stomped from the room and back to his own. Harry could hear him angrily knocking things about through the wall. He grinned.

xxx

Draco was right indeed, there _was _a fountain in the teacher's bathroom down in the dungeons—right smack in the middle of a nearly Olympic-sized bathtub steaming with toasty water. The fountain was spouting equally warm water from a marble fish's mouth, and Harry half-wondered why they would choose a fish for the fountain design and not a snake. He _was _in the dungeons, after all. Oh, well.

He sank down into the water with nothing but his glasses on, swimming lazy laps round and round the fountain. Even though he never gave way to stupid frivolities, he _just may _have to have one of these in his own house. He turned the knob on the side of the bathtub that controlled the strawberry-scented soap, the bubbles churning up and nearly spilling over the edge. He floated on his back through the sea of foam, lathering himself up as he went.

He clambered out the side of the bathtub, tumbling back in once or twice, and when he straightened himself up he noticed he just could've used the built-in stairs on the other side of the tub. Shrugging, even though there was no one present to _see _him shrug, he grabbed a warmed towel from the towel bin and wrapped it round his waist, using another to tousle his hair.

Shaving kit in hand, he walked through the connecting doorway, hoping there would be sinks in the place. He didn't see why there wouldn't be, but sometimes things in Hogwarts were confusing for no reason. What he saw _before _he got to find out if there were sinks or not sent him reeling, slapping his free hand over his eyes to shield them.

Draco was sitting smack in the middle of the floor, wearing nothing but a thick, white terrycloth bathrobe, pumicing the bottoms of his feet. He looked up at Harry and gave him a very annoyed look for interrupting his private-time, but Harry couldn't see it because his eyes were covered.

"Malfoy, what _are_ you doing?" Harry croaked. "With your _legs_ all spread out like that, are you _trying _to show me your bollocks? _Mer_lin—get out, or at least go somewhere else. So I can shave my face before I go to bed." Eyes still covered, he waggled the shaving kit in the other hand up and down, to emphasize his point.

Standing to his feet, fingertips not touching the ground as he hoisted himself up—he'd just put clearcoat on his nails, you see, very manly stuff—he grabbed Potter's arm hiding his face and pulled it down.

"Look here, you ignorant _sod_," Draco said, yanking his robes open. Harry made to cover his eyes again, but stopped in mid-cover. Underneath his robes Draco wasn't naked at all—he had on a beaten-up tee shirt any Malfoy would barely even deem good for sleeping in and a pair of (albeit snug) black boxer-briefs. Harry found himself feeling almost disappointed Draco was mostly clothed, and he mentally slapped himself at such a stupid, unwanted thought.

And it was then that it crossed Harry's mind how very naked _he_ was, with nothing but a towel on. He crossed his arms over his chest to hide his nonexistent breasts.

"You better be glad it was just me, what if you walked in on Professor Vector or some other poor decrepit fuff who has to use this bathroom? Can't you _knock_?"

"What're you doing in here buffing your _feet_, anyway? And is that polish on your fingernails?"

"It's _clearcoat_, Potter, there's a difference," he said, sneering, waving his hands back and forth in the air to dry them.

"Well anyway, _I'm _shaving my face now. And if my towel happens to slip while you're down there pampering yourself and you get an eyeful of my beautiful arse, I apologise." He turned away from Draco and toward the mirror.

Draco huffed, puffing his cheeks out, and Harry grinned lopsidedly at him in the mirror's reflection as he lathered up his stubbly face.

"Be ready for tomorrow, Potter," Draco called out as he stomped from the bathroom.

* * *

**End Notes: **Writing in the humor genre is a lot easier than writing in the hurt/comfort genre, I think, now that I've tried it. I don't know. Then again, I have a stupid sense of humor, and maybe I'm the only one that grinned at the 'funny' parts. :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: **Drarry, first of all! And secondly, slow-burner. If you want senseless shagging, read elsewhere if you please. Also, EWE! Like most everyone else, I am..._displeased _with the epilogue. So there'll be none of that!

**Author's Note:** ...For once in my life I have nothing to say. D:

* * *

Back in his room, Draco couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about stupid Potter in his stupid towel. He was actually quite different from what he expected old Scarhead to look like underneath his clothes—not that he'd given the matter much _thought_, or anything. He was a bit flabby, to tell the truth. Well, Draco reasoned, if he'd been shut up in a cupboard for the better half of his life, he'd probably indulge himself, as well. But Draco had no place to talk about body image, actually, because underneath his clothes, he was nothing but pale skin and bones. Not very alluring.

Why was he even thinking of such things? He'd be getting enough of Potter for the rest of the month without him invading his _thoughts_. He sighed, turning over in bed, slamming his head against his fancy imported pillow. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to think of something else. But no matter what sort of beautiful maiden he dreamed up in his head, his thoughts always wandered back to Potter when he was starting to drift off, with that bad haircut of his and that stupid _smile_. Draco hated everything about him, right down to that zigzag blemish on his forehead. He hated his stupid sweaters and his stupid eyebrows and his stupid fingernails and his stupid...his stupid face, and...

Draco slipped down into sleep, dreaming begrudgingly of Potter.

xxx

At precisely six-thirty a.m., Draco undid the wards to Harry's bedroom. He didn't bother knocking because he knew full-well the git would be asleep. He aimed to tumble him out of bed and ask him if he wanted to grab a bit of breakfast before class started. After all, it was only polite.

To his surprise, Harry was standing in front of a mirror that hung from the wall, combing his hair (which didn't do much good for him, anyway). He saw Draco in the reflection and grinned.

He whipped around, pretending to be shocked. "_Mal_foy! Can't you _knock_?" He said it in a perfect impersonation of Draco's own voice last night when Harry had walked in on him in the shower room.

Draco's cheeks pinked. "Shut it, you, I thought you'd be asleep," he grumbled, sinking into an armchair.

"What do you want?" Harry said, his voice returning to normal. His comb snagged in a particularly troublesome knot in his hair, and he had to shimmy it back and forth to get it unstuck.

"Ah, well, yesterday I didn't exactly tell you what time breakfast was," he said. "And I just thought I—well, you know, I—" he didn't know how to finish up that sentence without sounding like a sap, so he just closed his mouth before he said more than he needed to. He always prided himself in being such an excellent conversationalist, _except _when he was around Potter. It had always been that way. Potter really knew how to push his buttons.

"It just so happens, Malfoy, that I've been to this school before and I remember what time breakfast is," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He gave up on combing his hair. He threw the comb past Draco's head and onto his bed. "_You _just wanted an excuse to hex me out of bed, admit it."

"It just so happens, _Potter_, that you'll be having your breakfast in the conference room until everyone gets used to seeing you here, so we don't have an uproar or an assassination attempt on our hands," Draco said, standing from his chair. He never was good at arguing whilst sitting down. "And McGonagall's making me keep you company, so I'll be joining you."

"How sweet of her," Harry said sarcastically. Draco huffed at him.

"I haven't got a clue where the conference room is, though," Harry said, shoving a quill and parchment into his bookbag, in case of the unlikely event that he needed to take notes from Draco's teaching methods.

"Here's a novel idea, how about we walk down there together?" Draco snapped. Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way for the door.

"That plan is so crazy it just might work," Harry called over his shoulder. Draco hurried to catch up to him.

Draco led the way, marching up stairs and steering down corridors. The conference room was on the fourth floor, which was about as close to the centre of the school as one could get. House-elves were darting in and out the conference room door, pushing along tiny cartfuls of food.

"Guess we got here right on time," Harry said, and they went in.

The long conference table wasn't set for just two people—it was set for about fifteen. Leave it to house-elves to overindulge. Harry sat at the first seat he came to, somewhere near the middle, and Draco took the opposite side a few seats away.

Harry happily ladled bangers and eggs and bacon and toast with jam onto his plate. Draco grabbed a muffin, tearing it into bits and popping it into his mouth as he watched Harry tuck in.

One of the house-elves had left a _Prophet. _Harry took a cursory glance at it to make sure his picture along with some rubbish story weren't on the cover, and when he discovered it wasn't, he grabbed it and shook it open, reading it as he ate, hiding Draco from his view.

"Hey, Malfoy, listen to this article in the health section," Harry said. Draco quirked his eyebrows in mild interest, dusting crumbs off his jumper. Harry was still hidden by the newspaper as he read. "'New breakthroughs in Muggle medical technology have recently surfaced into Wizarding Healing techniques. The Ministry is urging citizens to perform a self-medical exam to check for the rare disease known as Influenza A before an outbreak occurs. Self-test methods are relatively simple and require minimal effort; simply hold one's left hand flush with one's face. If one's hand is _longer _than one's face, please make an appointment with St. Mungo's Hospital immediately, because one may be a carrier for the disease and require medical treatment.' Hm. Interesting stuff, eh, Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes widened. He didn't spare himself in looking shocked, since Harry couldn't see him anyway. "Yeah," he mumbled, lost in thought.

Harry knew there was no way Draco could know that Influenza A was just the Muggle sniffles. Airborne Wizarding diseases were rare, since so few of them couldn't be abolished with a simple potion. Harry wished he could flip his newspaper down and look at Draco's face, but that would blow his cover. He had to wait for _just _the right moment.

Draco sat his muffin down on his plate and looked over at Harry; he was still engrossed in his newspaper. If he couldn't see Harry, then surely Harry couldn't see him...

He lifted his hand to his face, about to see if it truly _was_ bigger, when some_one _or some_thing _propelled his hand forward, causing him to slap himself hard and full on the face.

He cried out, more in shock than in pain. He whirled around. Harry was standing behind him, grinning from ear to ear, shaking with laughter. Draco scowled at him. He didn't think he could possibly hate Potter even more, but...

He glanced back over to the newspaper, which was still ramrod straight in the air, as if someone really was still reading it. Then it dawned on Draco—Harry had charmed the newspaper and had sneaked around the table or under it or _some_thing and crept up behind him.

His nose was throbbing. He thought it might be bleeding.

"What was _that _for, _Potter_?" he demanded, his angry face tipping up to look into Harry's goofy one. Harry laughed at him.

"_I _didn't hit you, you hit yourself," he said. "Also, did you know the word 'gullible' isn't in the dictionary?" He laughed again, giving Draco a hard poke in the ribs.

Draco scraped his chair back and rose from it with a huff. "I'll be in my classroom setting up, Potter," he said, heading for the door a little too quickly to be inconspicuous.

"Malfoy, I was just kidd—" But it was too late, Draco had already slammed the door in his face. With a sigh, Harry jammed a piece of toast into his mouth and headed after him.

xxx

Draco failed to mention which classroom was his, but Harry figured the Potions room was the same as it had always been. He hurried down the stairs to catch Draco and...apologise? No, he wouldn't be doing that. He would _explain_. Yeah, that was it.

As Harry looked down the flights of stairs, he supposed Draco must've taken a shortcut because he was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Harry quickened his pace.

He was down in the dungeons, looking everywhere for even the slightest glimpse of white-blonde hair. _Why _was he doing this, again? Because even though it was _Malfoy _of all people, he still hated to see people like that. He knew Draco would be mad, which is the reason he did it, but he didn't think he would be so..._upset._

Finally, he reached what he assumed to be Draco's Potions class. He opened the door, and a bucket full of icy water rained down onto his head. Chunks of wet hair stuck to his glasses, blocking his line of vision, but he could hear Draco's giddy cackling clear as day.

Draco guided the charmed bucket back into the cabinet once it had performed its duty. "_Ha_! How's that for gullible, Potter? You should've seen that coming!"

Harry reached up and pulled the hair out of his eyes, and Draco actually, literally felt his breath hitch in his throat, something he thought didn't really happen and only existed in two-Sickle romance novels. Potter's damp hair, his simultaneously annoyed and amused expression, rivulets of water running down his cheeks, tiny droplets dotting the lenses of his glasses, the small puddle forming at his feet...it was all so...so very...

"Did you even _hear_ me, Malfoy?" Harry said, waving a hand in Draco's face. Draco blinked hard a few times, realizing he'd been standing with his mouth hanging open. Flushing furiously, Draco tried his absolute best to compose himself.

"I'm going for a change of clothes," Harry repeated. When Draco couldn't make his mouth form a response in time, Harry shrugged and left the room.

Absently, Draco magicked away the puddle of water, lest some poor Hufflepuff slip and break their neck. He sank down into his desk chair. He'd just made a blithering idiot of himself in front of Potter. What was all that about? Did he just...?

No, he wouldn't be thinking such things, he would _not_. This most certainly wasn't The Malfoy Way. He wasn't supposed to be admiring Potter's smile or the hazy glint in his eye. Absolutely not. _No._

But even though Harry had gone, he was still thinking about him, soaking wet. Even though his first class of the day started pouring in, third-year Hufflepuffs, he still couldn't clear his head—and yet he still refused to believe it had been fogged by Potter at all.

* * *

**End Notes: **Have you guys ever had someone do that to you? Where they tell you something like, "Did you know that if your hand is bigger than your face, you have CANCER?" And then you're like D: -holds hand to face- and they WHAP your hand and make you slap yourself? I've fallen for it twice. :P


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings: **Drarry, first of all! And secondly, slow-burner. If you want senseless shagging, read elsewhere if you please. Also, EWE! Like most everyone else, I am..._displeased _with the epilogue. So there'll be none of that!

**Author's Note:** After about a week of writer's block for this, I finally wrote something last night. -wipes brow-

**

* * *

**

Harry came skirting through the door with fresh robes and towel-dried hair just before class officially began. All the third-year Hufflepuffs turned around, eyes growing wide, mouths agape. There was an explosion of fervent whispers. Some people gasped. One girl audibly murmured, "Oh my God," and Harry smiled at her. She seemed to wilt in her seat. Some waved at him, and he waved back. And one _particularly_ brave girl reached her hand out to touch his robes as he walked down the aisle to the front of the class. He winked at her. She didn't even know what to do with herself. He never was one to wallow in his own fame, but he didn't want kids to think he was a jerk and crush their dreams. Not to mention it was incredibly entertaining to watch their little faces light up.

Draco watched this little charade with his arms crossed over his chest, rolling his eyes. What a bloody showoff. Stupid _Potter_. He disgusted him. Yes. He did.

"_All_ right, class, settle down, settle down," he yelled over the uproar. He glared at Harry as he grasped him by the arm, yanking him up to the front of the class, in front of his desk.

"Now, I don't think you need telling this, but this is Harry Potter, and you'll address him as _Mr. _Potter while he's in my classroom. He's going to be observing you lot to see if he's up to the challenge of teaching—he's considering being your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There was a smattering of excited chatter over that last remark.

"But," Draco continued, having to scream even louder over the Hufflepuffs' continuous banter. "Inside this class, he is _not _a celebrity. He shall be treated as a regular human being, give him the same respect you would give me or any of your other teachers. Is that clear?"

There were a few muttered 'yes's and a few head nods. Draco couldn't help but smirk.

"Come on, I want everyone to say 'yes, Professor Malfoy' just so I know you understand. Come on, let's try again. Is that _clear_?"

"Yeeeeeeeesssssss, Professor Malfoooooooy," all the students said in unison, cracking smiles and tittering at how funny they sounded. Draco smiled, as well, and Harry thought his jaw would nearly hit the floor. He had _never _seen Draco smile before, not _ever_, and all these kids had to do was laugh a bit and his face was about to split in half.

And did he ever have a _lovely _smile. Harry mentally slapped himself for that one. Malfoy didn't have a lovely _anything_, he reassured himself. Even _if _he couldn't stop looking at Malfoy's smile until it faded away.

"All right, enough of this, let's begin class," he said, waving his hands to settle them down. He _Wingardium Leviosa_'d a chair from the back of the room for Harry to sit in, sitting it down beside his at his desk. Harry fell into it, watching Draco as he crossed the room to the blackboard.

"Today we'll just be doing a simple Calming Draught," Draco dictated, writing the words '_Calming Draught' _with perfect handwriting, underlining it. "And here...are the...ingredients," he said, a bit distracted due to talking and writing at the same time. He listed the ingredients from memory. Harry raised his eyebrows. _Impressive,_ he thought. _For a prat, anyway._

"For the instructions, turn to page...er..." he furrowed his brow, walking over to his bookshelf to fetch a copy of the book. But before he could even make it halfway there, a tiny female voice piped up from the back of the room.

"Page 37, Professor Malfoy," a young girl with a long plait said, beaming. Harry couldn't help but grin. That was a Hermione reincarnate if he ever saw one.

"Ah, thank you." Draco said, walking back to the blackboard and scribbling '_pg. 37' _next to the ingredients list. "Ten points to Hufflepuff, for saving me some exercise," he said, and the class laughed. There was that magnificent smile again. Harry eyed it hungrily, trying to remember every little minute detail about it, and mentally gave himself a black eye for doing so. He was also bowled over at the fact that Draco had said _thank you. _To a _little girl_, no less. And _willingly _gave someone other than Slytherin some house points.

"All right, once you've read over that, line up at the supply cabinet and"—there was an immediate scraping of chairs with a complete disregard for reading the instructions first—"get in a _single file line, _don't take more than you need, and for God's sake _be careful _with the knives, we don't want another episode like last week," Draco called over the cacophony. When all of the students were seated and had fired up their cauldrons without any major disaster, Draco sank down into his seat, letting out a swift puff of air.

"And now the fun begins," Draco murmured to Harry, keeping a wide, wary eye over his classroom.

"I have to admit, Malfoy, I—I thought you were going to be a cheeky bastard to these poor kids like Snape used to be," Harry said.

"Severus never really was cut out to teach," Draco muttered, his eyes clouding over. _Who's the cheeky bastard now? _Harry thought to himself. _I completely forgot Snape was Malfoy's godfather. Great._

"What—er, what made you want to start teaching, Malfoy?" Harry said, more to get the subject back onto something positive than anything.

Draco sighed, slumping his back forward, and Harry knew then that he had definitely asked the wrong question.

"Well," he began in a voice that Harry barely recognized as belonging to Draco. "I woke up in my bed one morning at the Manor and realized I had accomplished absolutely nothing in my life. And I wanted...I wanted to do something that would be important. For other people, not just me. And I know that sounds weird coming from me," he said as he caught Harry's bewildered stare, "but it's true. I was tired of just lazing around all day doing absolutely nothing. It's actually not all that great. It's actually quite...boring, really."

He cleared his throat and pressed on.

"When I heard Slughorn retired I _knew _this is what I needed to do. Where I needed to be. Because, look out there, Harry." He gestured at all the struggling Hufflepuffs haphazardly chopping ingredients. "Who knows if one of them is going through something like I did? ...Like _you _did? I wanted to be here for some other poor kid who might need some help, and they don't know where to go to find it. I remember...how hopeless _I _felt." He sighed deeply.

Harry was reeling. That was the first time Draco had ever called him by his first name, and it sounded oddly satisfying coming from his mouth. Also, he really did have a point. Teaching school was much more than just...well, teaching. It was about watching over your students, being there for them if they needed you. He looked at all the Hufflepuffs out there, really giving it their best, and he knew that most if not all of them looked up to and trusted Draco. They were all at a point in their lives when Draco spent more time with them than their own parents. That was something Harry could really see himself doing—teaching students the proper way to do something, giving them a quality education, simultaneously keeping all one thousand of them under his wing. The thought was a bit...thrilling.

"So it's a rewarding job, eh?" Harry muttered, and was absolutely delighted when he triggered one of Draco's smiles himself.

"It really is."

Harry opened his mouth to say something to that when a high-pitched scream erupted from the back of the room. Both Harry and Draco stood up as a girl ran up to his desk, clutching her finger, her hands soaked with blood.

"Professor, I—"

"Let me see how bad it is," Draco said. The girl shook her head furiously.

"Hang on," Draco said, rolling his chair backwards and over to his personal stores. He grabbed a jarful of salve and propelled himself back over to the crying girl.

"You don't have to look at it," he said, unscrewing the cap. "Just let me see, turn your head."

The girl turned away, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and gingerly unclenched her hand, revealing a very deep cut across her middle finger. Draco grimaced, gently applying the salve to her shaking hand. As soon as the stuff was smoothed into her skin, her cut started to stitch itself back together. The only thing that served as evidence that she cut herself in the first place was the dried blood all over her hands. Other than that, thought, she didn't even have a scar to show for it.

"You can look now."

She opened her eyes, looked down at her hand, and gasped. She waggled her fingers around like it couldn't be true.

"Oh, _thank _you, Professor!" she said, flinging herself onto him. Draco patted her back, but to Harry's surprise, didn't look disgusted about the matter; he looked rather...

Happy?

"Sorry," the girl said, wrenching herself away from Draco. "It's just—Madame Pomfrey scares me and I..."

"I could understand that," Draco said, and the girl laughed.

"Be a bit more careful with the knife, all right?" Draco said, and the girl nodded animatedly. She scampered off to her desk, nearly knocking someone over in the process.

"How did you—" Harry started.

"It happens _every week _with the Hufflepuffs at _least _once," he said, looking at Harry pointedly.

"No, I mean—how did you do that? Keep that girl calm, I mean? That's—that's not like you at all," Harry said finally, thinking of no way to sugarcoat it.

"Do you want me to be honest with you, Harry?" Draco said, turning his eyes away from his classroom to stare at the man in question.

_There's my name again_, Harry thought airily. He wished these thoughts would just _stop _already.

"I just think about all the things I hated about all my old teachers, and do the exact opposite in my classroom," Draco said simply. "It may look odd to you, but—these kids don't know the old me. They can't—they can't judge me because of the Mark on my arm like everybody else can. Because they don't know it's there. They don't know what I used to be like and I intend to keep it that way."

"You don't seem like you've changed that much to me, though, Malfoy," Harry said.

"A lot can happen in a year," Draco muttered.

"What does _that _mean?" Harry said, leaning closer, eyes intuitive.

"Nothing," Draco said even quieter, taking his gaze away from Harry and back onto his class.

xxx

People were actually taking it pretty sensibly that Harry Potter was in the school. Harry convinced McGonagall that it was alright if he started eating in the Great Hall with everyone else. She still seemed uncertain, beings _everyone _would be there and not just half the students that saw him today, but if they all reacted the way the others did, things shouldn't be too bad.

McGonagall transfigured a pepper shaker into a dining chair for him to sit in, placing it in between herself and Draco. After all these years, she was still going to keep an eye on the both of them to make sure they behaved themselves. Harry couldn't help but smile to himself at that; some things will never change.

But then again..._a lot can happen in a year. _

That was going to drive him absolutely insane.

Again, Harry scooped up everything within arm distance onto his plate, whilst Draco picked at a hard-boiled egg and a dinner roll with his fork. Draco hazarded a glance over at the other man, and found Harry's face absolutely aglow.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Nothing, just...it feels so weird to be up here and not down there, you know what I mean?"

Draco gave a slight smile, looking out at one thousand young heads. "That's the first thing that went through my mind on my first day, too."

Draco's hand, with those long, bony fingers, was resting atop the table, having mostly given up on using the fork to eat anything with. Harry could just...reach out and...perhaps...

"What're you doing?" Draco asked quietly, brow furrowed. Harry hadn't even realized that his hand was hovering about an inch away from Draco's—apparently it had a mind of its own.

"Er—just trying to—could you pass the salt? I can't reach it," he lied.

"...Sure."

Draco did, and Harry took it, looking down at his plate to decide what exactly he wanted to salt to cover up his fib. Mashed potatoes? He supposed. He tipped the salt shaker over and the top tumbled off, dumping the entire shakerful of crystals all over his plate.

Draco looked over at Harry and _smiled. _Harry melted. _And _he immediately began thinking of a way to get Draco back for this giant pile of salt in the middle of the rest of his dinner.

* * *

**End Notes: **This has nothing to do with the chapter but I'm going to say it anyway.  
I just heard of A Very Potter Musical like...4 days ago. I've watched them all and I'm trying to go through A Very Potter Sequel now. There are some parts that just kill me.  
"Lupin, what do YOU do on a full moon?"  
"KILL PEOPLE."  
*all the Gryffindors gasp*  
"I mean - I mean kill _animals_!"  
*all the Slytherins gasp*  
I would definitely be in Slytherin House. D:

OHH. And...  
"Do you hear something, Crabbe?"  
"No. ...Maybe _one _raindrop."  
And I have Draco's little speech about Hermione being 'ugly' completely memorized. My friends get such a kick out of my impersonation of it. :P


	5. Chapter 5

**Warnings: **Drarry, first of all! And secondly, slow-burner. If you want senseless shagging, read elsewhere if you please. Also, EWE! Like most everyone else, I am..._displeased _with the epilogue. So there'll be none of that!

Also, in this particular chapter there is some naked-ness, but it's not really what you'd think. If for whatever reason that bothers you, though...don't read it, I suppose. D:

**Author's Note: **I know! This chapter is really short, but I think making it longer would make it lose...something. I dunno. But I didn't think making it longer would turn out well in the end, for this particular chapter.

By the way, if you've got any questions, comments, story suggestions, general curiosity, what_ever_, I forgot I had a Formspring and started getting on there again. My username on there is lazycreeper. So it's formspring dot me slash lazycreeper. Ask away. :D

* * *

Draco shouldered out of his robe, letting it pool at his feet. He stepped out of it, completely naked, kicking it off to the side with a flick of his foot so it wouldn't get wet. He got into position and made a clean little dive into the bathtub, the steamy water hitting his skin with a delightful bite. He jabbed the soap dispenser with one of his toes to get the bubbles going.

Draco was kneading shampoo into his scalp when he heard three tentative knocks at the bathroom door. He sighed.

"Are you deceeeeent?" Harry yelled.

"Nooooo," Draco yelled back.

Silence as Harry contemplated this for a moment, then he threw the door open anyway, steam escaping out into the main corridor. Draco shrieked, scrunching into a ball and gathering up all the bubbles he could to cover up his _areas_.

"You don't grow chest hair," Harry remarked casually, shaving kit in hand.

"_Get out!_" Draco screamed, his hand shooting out of the water, splashing Harry's legs with suds.

"I knocked first, didn't I?"

"_Potter! Get out!"_

He had demoted himself back to 'Potter'. Harry frowned. "I've just got to shave my face and brush my teeth," he said, waggling his shaving kit. "I'm going to be in that other room there—"

"Will you _stop _staring at me, I'm in the _nude _for God's sake!" Draco said, standing on one leg as he crossed the other to hide his crotch. More bubbles floated idly by. He grabbed them up and slathered them across his chest to cover his absence of anything particularly manly.

"Draco, I'm _fully _aware what a p—"

"_**Leave**__!"_

"Fine," Harry laughed, taking his shaving kit and walking into the bathroom.

Harry laughed again as he saw all of Draco's Bath and Body Wizard bottles of lotion and cologne and hair softener and whatever else littering one of the bathroom sinks. He wondered if it was just him, or if Draco _always _did such a horrible job at hiding his femininity.

Harry reached over and popped the cap to his hair softener open, smelling it. It smelled like pomegranate and lemon. It was like Draco in a bottle, it smelled so much like him.

"Don't touch my things, Potter," Draco yelled, and Harry hurriedly recapped the bottle and sat it back down on the edge of the sink.

Draco finished his bath in record time, not wanting Harry to barge in on him again. He slithered out of the tub and ran for the towel bin. He bundled his hair in one, and put another around his waist. Then he thought better of it and pulled the towel up to his chest, to cover as much of his body as possible.

He padded into the bathroom, pausing a moment as his gaze fell upon a lathered-up Harry scratching away his facial hair with one of those old-fashioned barbershop razors. Only when Harry's eyes met his and a wry smile crossed his lips did he snap out of it and walk over to his things in the sink.

"Do you really use all that stuff on yourself?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco said tersely, smoothing lotion onto his arms. Draco cut his eyes over to Harry and found him stifling a laugh as he shaved.

"What's so funny?" Draco demanded, bending down to put some lotion on his legs.

"Nothing, nothing," Harry said, a repressed giggle obviously buttering his voice. Draco straightened himself with a huff, taking down the towel surrounding his hair and raking hair softener through it, causing it to stick up in little spikes.

"That's a good look for you," Harry said. Draco glared at him again, but Harry's face was serious. Draco opened his mouth and shut it again like a fish blooping in the water, unsure of what to say.

He looked himself over in the mirror and scoffed. "I think not. I look like a common heathen."

"You know, _usually _people say _'thank you' _when someone gives them a compliment," Harry said, curling his upper lips to shave the hair below his nose. Draco shrugged, putting some mint paste on his toothbrush and jamming it in his mouth, brushing his teeth in little circles.

He spat in the sink, swirling his tongue around in his mouth, making sure all of his teeth were clean. He spritzed some cologne onto his jugular, which was the best place to put cologne because the heat from your vein radiated the scent—_how _did he know that, again? He started loading things back into his toiletry case. He didn't comb his hair down this time. Maybe he'd—no. He'd just comb it when he got back to his room, that's all.

"Shave your face in the mornings, eh?" Harry said, flicking a glob of shaving cream into the sink.

"Er," Draco said.

"Huh?"

"I don't _shave _my face, alright?" Draco said. His hand was on the shirt, underwear, and slippers he'd laid out to change into. Now that Harry was there, he didn't know how he'd manage that. "I don't grow facial hair. If you _must _know." His cheeks turned slightly pink at this confession. He turned away from Harry so he wouldn't see and gloat, but Harry caught it in the mirror anyway. He smirked.

Harry fought back the urge to ask if he grew pubic hair. But he knew that would probably get him a broken nose.

"I'm going to go in that other room there and change," Draco said, grabbing up his clothes. "_Don't _look."

"Oh, I'm _look_ing. As soon as I know you're towel's off I'm coming in there and staring at your naked arse, Draco." Harry towelled his face off and waggled his eyebrows.

"Don't," Draco said weakly, giving Harry a pitied look. If snark didn't work, maybe he could try the helpless facade—he had a good idea that was probably Harry's secret kink, anyhow. Wait, _why _did he care about Harry's—

"Fine, I won't look," Harry said as he pulled his toothbrush out of his shaving kit. Draco hovered in the doorway, unsure of whether to trust him. "Go on," Harry sighed, brushing his teeth in quick chainsaw motions.

Draco didn't even think he _could _dress that fast. It took him literally eleven seconds to go from naked and exposed to (mostly) clothed in his shirt and boxer-briefs and slippers. He still felt fairly naked, but it was definitely better than before. Before, he really _was _naked.

"Going to bed?" Harry said when Draco came back to gather his things. "Yes," Draco said shortly as he brushed past Harry.

"Good n—" Harry started, but Draco was already gone.

xxx

Draco had about enough time to sit his stuff down before there was a knock at his door. He opened it and there stood Harry, grinning lopsidedly at him.

"Go away," he said halfheartedly, and made to slam the door in his face. But he stopped about halfway through when Harry didn't so much as flinch and jerked it open again. He sighed.

"_What_?" Draco asked.

"You forgot this," Harry said, dangling his white terry-cloth robe in front of him.

"Oh," Draco said, and his voice was _much _softer than he would've liked. He inwardly winced at himself. He grabbed his robe from Harry's outstretched hand.

Then Harry leaned in close to him. His face was about three inches away from his own. He could smell aftershave and mint toothpaste radiating from him.

"You know..." Harry said, and he said it in such a low, humming voice that Draco's breath hitched in his throat. Harry leaned in closer still, tilting his head upward to whisper in Draco's ear. Draco went rigid, breath shallow.

"...this is the part where you should say 'thank you'," he whispered ever-so-softly. Harry gave a throaty laugh, pulling his head back to look at Draco's face, which was indeed a priceless mixture of confusion, disgust, embarrassment, and just a bit of desire—the last bit thrown in there for good measure.

"What—you—I—go away, Harry," he said, scowling, and this time he really _did _slam the door in Harry's face. Harry burst out laughing behind the door (partly because he'd been promoted back to 'Harry' now), and Draco smiled, unable to help himself. God. He needed to think of a way to humiliate or demean or belittle him, before he did such a foolish thing as begin to _like _the stupid git.

* * *

**End Notes: **Ohhh-hhh! What was _that_? I think we're getting somewhere, here!


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings: **Drarry, first of all! And secondly, slow-burner. If you want senseless shagging, read elsewhere if you please. Also, EWE! Like most everyone else, I am..._displeased _with the epilogue. So there'll be none of that!

**Author's Note:** I know that updates from me have been scarce lately, but I'm trying my best to update my stories as much as I can. I'm actually writing a story of my own creation now, too. So far I've written 10,000 words and I'm going to try my damndest to stick to it. But I'll be writing fanfiction along with it, because to be honest, if I didn't get so many encouraging reviews on this site, I would've never been inspired to try and write original fiction again. So thank you to everyone who reviews my stories! :D

* * *

"Sweep," Draco said, shoving a broom handle into Harry's hands. He himself had an apron tied round his waist and was scrubbing at the lab tables with Scourgify in a Bottle concentrate.

"And _why _are we doing all this by hand, again?" Harry said, holding the broom limply in his hands, watching Draco clean.

"Because," Draco said tersely, sweat beginning to bead at his pale brow. "As much as I hate to admit it, cleaning charms don't do much when it comes to scraping up volatile potions ingredients. Students can sometimes get it underneath their fingernails or catch it on the hem of their robes and—"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Harry said, starting to sweep. He'd done about a quarter of the room when he stopped.

"Hey," he said.

Draco snapped his head up from his cleaning, looking for all the world like a common (yet dashingly handsome) housewitch. His cheeks were pink from the effort he was putting into his scrubbing and his hands were covered in soap.

"What?"

"Why am I sweeping _your _classroom?" Harry said. "I don't believe I signed on to be your _maid_."

"You're my intern, so you've got to, Potter." He left the table he was working on to sit in the suds for a bit while he moved on to the next. "So _sweep_."

_Potter_, Harry thought. There was his last name again. He didn't much like that. He'd have to do something about it soon. "Actually, _Draco_," he said, "I'm not your intern. I'm just an _observer_. I don't have to do anything you—"

"But don't you want the full teacher experience?" Draco said, rocking back and forth on his heels to scrub at a particularly sticky spot. He looked up. Harry raised a brow at him.

"Fine, do it out of the goodness of your heart, then," Draco said, moving on to the next table.

How could Harry say no to that? After all, his heart _was _pretty full of goodness. He started sweeping again, noticing that Draco's already pretty cleanly classroom didn't much need it.

"And after you're done with that," Draco said, "you can make yourself useful and mop." He Summoned a mop from the supply closet and sat it down neatly at the front of the classroom. Harry rolled his eyes at him.

Pretty soon the whole class smelt strongly of grape, the scent of choice for Scourgify in a Bottle, apparently. Harry dearly wished they could open up a window to let the place air out, but of course there weren't any windows in the dungeon.

Draco's apron was covered in splotchy purple stuff. He dried his hands on it before he untied the neck and back ribbons, letting it pool to the ground and magicking it back into the supply closet. He patted a few stray hairs down. All this time Harry thought he used some sort of charm to keep his hair so put-together. But he supposed Draco just took excellent care of his—

"You're staring at me again, Potter," Draco said, his voice maddeningly suave and superior. Harry felt heat flush to his cheeks, but he tried to brush it off.

"So what now, Draco?" Harry said. "We've cleaned your classroom already. What else have you got planned for your _exciting _Saturday?"

"Actually," Draco said, "I left my schedule open today. I thought you may be interested in a game of Seeker-only Quidditch with me. _Potter_."

Harry beamed. "It's been _ages_ since I've played Quidd—"

"Excellent. I'll meet you at the Quidditch pitch in a half-hour." And with that, Draco strode out of the classroom, his robes swishing at his ankles.

{*}

"Put that away," Draco said, gesturing at Harry's brand-new Rocket Comet 3000. "We're using school brooms, to make it fair."

"Since when have you been one for playing fair?" Harry said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Maybe I've changed since you've last seen me," Draco said, but Harry caught him stashing his Rocket Comet 1000 into the broom cupboard whilst returning with two school brooms. Same old Draco.

He took one of the school brooms from Draco's proffered arm, dismayed at the heaviness he felt as his fingers curled around the handle. It didn't have any of the bells and whistles of his old broom.

"Be back with the snitch," Draco said, disappearing into the Quidditch locker room.

Harry walked out onto the pitch. The weather wasn't exactly what he could've hoped for—cloudy, a bit nippy, windy—but it'd been so long since his feet had touched this all-familiar grass and his eyes had looked upon the all-familiar stands that he didn't much care. Already he could feel the swell of his chest at the anticipation.

Draco walked up beside him, the snitch trying it's damndest to jerk free from his hand. Though he was trying his best to conceal it, Harry could tell Draco's hidden elation beneath his stony features. A smile tugged at the edges of the blonde's lips, Harry was happy to note.

"And how do I know you haven't bewitched the snitch to fly right into your hand?" Harry said.

"Why would I do something like that?" Draco's wide eyes and faux-innocence was laughable. Harry snickered.

"Oh, I don't know...perhaps because you've never beaten me at _any_thing before?"

"I have so beaten you at something, Potter," Draco snapped.

"Yeah? What might that be?"

Draco let the snitch free from his hand, and it zoomed up toward the clouds. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Harry began his search up high, like he always did, while Draco was flying idly by down low. He usually relied on the glint of the snitch's gold encasing from the sun to help him find it, but since there were clouds in the sky, he wasn't having much luck. Draco clearly had the upper hand, here, since his eyesight was so poor. He would really—

The Snitch flew right by his face, one of its tiny, rapidly-beating wings nicking him on the nose. But it had happened so fast he couldn't tell if it went up, or if it had soared down. He swivelled his head in all directions, trying to seek it out again.

Below him, he saw Draco soaring upward at an extreme angle, his brows furrowed, his jaws set tight, his once-perfect hair beating against the wind. Harry was temporarily taken aback by this clear look of absolute determination that it didn't immediately register in his mind what Draco was doing. But then he saw a flash of gold flit somewhere in his blurry peripheral vision and quickly about-faced in the air, Draco trailing behind him by mere yards.

It had been years since he'd played seeker in a Quidditch match—he nearly forgot how to keep his eyes trained on the snitch's sporadic movement. He squinted his eyes into the clouds as Draco gained up on him, flying parallel to him for a few short moments before he passed him.

But this wasn't entirely a bad thing, though, Harry thought. Now he only had to follow Draco through the sky, instead of struggling to see something so small. He gritted his teeth and sped up, up, up, until he was right beside Draco again.

Draco had pushed himself to the edge of his broom, one hand gripping the edge of the broom handle, the other outstretched in front of him. The snitch was teasing him, dancing in front of his fingers mere centimetres out of reach. Harry bent down low on his broom, he, too stretching his hand out, fingers nearly touching Draco's as they soared higher and higher, their brooms tipping at an almost vertical position in the air.

The snitch took a sudden jerk downwards. Draco whipped his hand down to catch it, feeling its wings cut against his fingers, but missed it. But the momentum was too much for such an extreme angle on a broomstick, and Harry watched with wide eyes as Draco slid off the back of his broom and started to fall.

The rest of the events played like slow-motion in Harry's head; it didn't quite feel real. Instinctively he shot his arm out to catch Draco, his hand curling around the wrist cuff of his robes. But he himself forgot where he was—several hundred meters in the air—and toppled off of his broom right along with Draco.

And that's all he could remember.

{*}

Draco groaned. He hurt all over. He felt the roughness of cotton bedsheets all around him, and smelled the all-too-familiar scent of a Pepper-Up Potion simmering somewhere nearby.

He also felt something cold and metallic, jerking feebly, clutched in his hand. He forced his eyes open, bringing his hand to his face, and was instantly flooded with...could it be _happiness_?

He shot up in bed, feeling a horribly sharp pain jolt up and down his back, but he didn't care. He looked round. He discovered he was in the hospital wing—no surprise there—his left arm in a sling, his right heavily bandaged, several layers of gauze wrapped around his head. Harry was in similar shape in the bed next to his, light snores coming from his gaping mouth.

"Potter, wake up!" he said. He was practically bouncing, he was so giddy. He couldn't wait to rub it in. The pain was well worth it. "_Potter_! Look what I've got! Wake up, you, I want you to _see _it!"

Harry gave some sort of grunting sound and turned over, facing the wall. Draco scowled.

"_Potter_!"

"Draco, would you _please _stop it with the screaming?" Madame Pomfrey said, stomping out of her office in sensible heels and a look to peel paint. "You're disturbing the other patients' rest."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but remembered that a teacher picking a fight with another staff member was a big no-no. He simply nodded his head once.

"Since you're up, let's have a look at your bandages," she said, coming over to poke and prod. She frowned and muttered to herself as she looked him over.

"Honestly...two fully grown adults...acting like _children_..."

But Draco wasn't listening. He was too preoccupied with the snitch in his hand, its metal warm with the heat of his palm. He'd never beaten Harry at _any_thing. As soon as Harry came to, the taunting would most certainly commence. He gripped his treasure as hard as he could, to be absolutely sure it didn't fly away, grinning wickedly to himself.

{*}

"I don't think I believe you, Draco," Harry said. They were both sitting up in bed, picking at their dinner trays Pomfrey had brought them.

"What?" Draco said. "But it's right _here_." For the millionth time that evening, Draco brandished the snitch for Harry to see. He hadn't let go of it the entire time, which made it incredibly difficult for him to eat, since he currently only had one functioning hand.

"So?" Harry said. He put jam on his toast. "How do I know you actually caught it, though? I didn't see you."

"How else would I have gotten it if I didn't catch it, Potter?" Draco said.

"You tell me," Harry said, shrugging.

"What—I—I _beat _you, Potter, and you know it!" He gave the snitch in his hand a vigorous shake. It beat its wings in protest.

"I don't think you did, Draco," Harry said simply.

"_I did_!"

"I didn't see you..."

"I did, I beat Golden Boy at his own game! And just because you don't want to believe it doesn't mean it didn't happen." Draco crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air.

Harry didn't say anything to that. They picked at their dinner in silence for awhile until Harry finally turned his head in Draco's direction. He watched him sulk for awhile before he spoke up.

"Draco," Harry said. "Has anyone ever told you that you look _much _more appealing when you're _not _scowling like that?"

Against his will, Draco felt his cheeks flush. He tried to hide it by turning his head, but Harry saw it before he could turn away.

"Well, have they?" Harry prodded.

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched. "No."

"It's true," Harry said, leaning back into the stack of pillows Pomfrey had wedged behind his back. "You should try smiling sometime."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't think so."

Again, silence spindled out between them for a bit. They were the only two in the hospital wing now. A few hex-riddled fourth years had been in there earlier, but now they had the place to themselves. The only sounds they could here were Pomfrey bustling about in her office and each others' breathing.

"I still don't think you beat me," Harry murmured.

"_Potter_!" Draco yelled. His natural magic made a box of tissues wobble off his bedside table and thump to the floor. "_Yes I did! Look at what's in my hand! Look! Don't you s—_"

"_Draco, for Merlin's sake, stop it with the yelling_!" Pomfrey screamed through her office door.

Draco clamped his mouth shut, but gave Harry a murderous look through narrowed eyes.

"I'll say it again, you _really _shouldn't scowl like that," Harry said. Draco scoffed, but Harry just chuckled at him.

"And you_ really _shouldn't be such an arse," Draco said. He sighed, looking down at the snitch in his hand. He unclenched his fist and let it go. It danced lazily about the room, the flying enchantment almost completely worn off.

"I hate you," Draco said.

"You do _not_."

"I do."

"Do not."

"Do so."

"Do not."

"Potter—"

"Do not."

"Potter—"

"Do not."

"_Potter_!"

"_Draco_!" Pomfrey screamed.

Draco winced. He spoke quieter. "Can't you just let me have my moment of glory, Harry?" He was going for snark, but it sounded more like a plea. The snitch buzzed tauntingly around his head. He swiped lazily at it and missed. He sighed again.

So now he was promoted back to 'Harry' again, Harry thought smugly. He smiled to himself as he watched the snitch fly in front of his nose. He grabbed at it and caught it firmly in his fist.

"Fine," Harry said. "I suppose you won a match, finally. Happy now?"

Draco didn't even try to hide his smile that time. "Duly satisfied."

"See, now _that _sort of face looks good on you," Harry said.

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" Draco snapped.

"Nothing, Draco," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Nothing at all."


End file.
